


One step forward, five steps back.

by tameimpala



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dark Dean Winchester, Episode: s10e09 The Things We Left Behind, Gen, Mark of Cain, POV Dean Winchester, Relapsing, Season/Series 10, hiatus filler
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-07
Updated: 2015-01-07
Packaged: 2018-03-05 11:02:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3117782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tameimpala/pseuds/tameimpala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p> <i>It takes ten minutes and a swig of whiskey to calm down but you don’t go back to sleep.</i><br/><i>Instead you thank a deadbeat God that your brother wasn't here to see this.</i></p><p>The blood lust was insatiable, and it wasn't a matter of if Dean would crack. It was when.</p><p>
  <span class="small">Coda to <span class="u">S10E09: The Things We Left Behind</span>, told from Dean's perspective (third person).</span>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	One step forward, five steps back.

****

###  **Five.**

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_You sit in the middle of the massacre, eyes wild and breath hitching._

_Flickered images of butchered corpses hit you like machine gun fire, one dead body after another flooding your line of sight…_

_Blood saturating clothing._

_The thick oozing crimson._

_A knife is shaking in your hand._

_Its weight feels oddly comforting, almost as if it is an extension of yourself, another limb…_

You jolt awake as if ice cold water had been thrown over you, still panting as you were in that room. The right hand is empty and your eyes stare down at the mark of Cain with surprise, you where half expecting it to be glowing in hunger. 

The mark is starving and you know it’s not faring well with its companion gone, the first blade having been shipped off to parts unknown by Crowley. However the yearning and ache for it never stopped.

The brand looks innocent and cold, it could easily be an oddly shaped scar that was the result of a run in with a hot stove. You hope it’s dying.

It takes ten minutes and a swig of whiskey to calm down but you don’t go back to sleep.

Instead you thank a deadbeat God that your brother wasn't here to see this.

****  
****

###  **Four.**

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****

The show made you laugh when you were younger, but now you’re only capable of hollow forced barks.

The poor imitation echoes through the bunker, creating a chorus of dead laughter.

You coerce Sam into watching the dated clip. No matter how discreet your brother makes it you still catch that glace, the look of concern at the scar that is still bleeding through everything you do…

_“All those extra shots after the shifter was already dead. What was that?”_

_“...for the first time since I've been back, I didn't feel like the Mark was pushing me.”_

That’s right. Keep up the charade for Sam and don’t let it slip. Eat your staple diet of greasy junk food even though each bite you take tastes rotten. Womanize and drink and screw. Laugh and joke and be the cocky son of a bitch to cover up the all the hurt, the flashbacks, the endless bone-deep bloodlust. 

Fake it till you _feel_ it.

Keep your game face on.

Try to be you again.

****  
****

###  **Three.**

****  
****

This is his _emergency?_

This doomed family reunion? Playing at caring for this kid, being a surrogate father to make up for his past mistakes?

Despite everything they've all been through he's still so innocent and well meaning that it actually causes you pain. He almost makes you wish you weren't so jaded and tainted. But you worry for him nevertheless, so you offer him advice that you've never taken yourself...

_"The people you let down, the ones you can't save, you've got to forget about them, for your own good."_

God, the hypocrisy you feel for telling the angel all this self-help bullshit… Of course it's the opposite of what you do, but someone should learn from your mistakes.

He sits and hangs on your every word as always and he finally asks you the question that is on each one of your loved ones lips these days… _How are you?_ A loaded question if ever there was one. Then he inquires if the raised poisonous scar is still affecting you. A bitter laugh at that question is hard to keep in, but you manage it.

Mentions of the mark bring back the ~~vision~~ dream. Back to the slaughter house that is that room, the bodies, the knife. _The fresh and raw scent of the kill…_

_“Dean?”_

Reality comes crashing back in the form of two clear blue eyes, the piercing orbs that are etched with concern. You desperately want to scream into them that the mark’s power is still there. It never left. 

But you're afraid.

Not afraid of being tossed back in the dungeon like a rabid dog, but afraid of how they'll look at you. Afraid that they’ll finally see that the black mark on your soul is erasable.

_“You've got to take me out_  
_knife me_  
_smite me_  
_throw me into the friggin’ sun”_

You tell yourself you can't become that thing once more and the mark smarts in return. It’s like a ticking time bomb, taunting you. _Oh yes you will be Dean, wait and see. Just you wait and see..._

Castiel silently nods at the order of your own assassination, looking anywhere but you. Staring at the angel you wonder if he could actually do the deed that he knows will have to be done when the time comes.

You wonder if you yourself could do it to him… To Sam...

You aren't exactly a role model.

****  
****

###  **Two.**

****  
****

You hold them at gunpoint. They're nothing more than thugs. _Scumbags._ A walk in the park really. 

Castiel leads the girl away and Sam follows them.

But the enemy pushes forward, knives in hand. Not happening.

_“Don't be as dumb as you look”_

**_“You have no idea what you walked into here do you?”_**

One distraction is all it takes. The door is closed swiftly and the collision of glass hitting skull drops you to your knees. 

You feel the mark humming, egging you on, fire suddenly bubbling inside you. Memories rush though your head… _the ecstasy of the blade… the thrill of the slaughter…._

In a last act of humanity you offer them one last chance. They laugh in your face. 

Who can blame them? You're outnumbered, five to one. You’re already on the floor and bleeding. The entire situation to them is laughable.

You don't even counter the boot that flies into your face. Let them get one decent hit.

_What's a bruise to you?_

A symphony of screams, grunts and dropping bodies travel through the house. You cut them down effortlessly, occasionally giving them a chance, after all what's the fun if you can't play with your prey. That coward, that sicko that sold the girl to these men to save his own hide has his hands up, begging for mercy. 

You have none. 

They are gutted one by one and the mark is sedated at last, it revels in the bloodshed, accepting its sacrifice greedily after its starvation.

The rush is gone. Your knees buckle beneath you in the middle of the carnage that you created. 

Reality is cracked. Numbness takes hold.

A cloud of black swallows you whole.

****  
****

###  **One.**

****  
****

A piercing scream rips you from the hold of the darkness. Eyes suddenly focus on a moving figure that calls your name. Before you can sluggishly tell if it’s a threat he's there, clutching onto you, begging you to tell him that this wasn't you, that you had no choice.

The mask has fallen and shattered, your brother is staring at the raw nerves of you. How can you deny this?

Your voice feels foreign, the mouth barely moves…

_“I didn't mean it”_

They are the words of a caught child, but it's the truth. There’s nothing to hide behind now. You know he doesn't want to believe it…

_“…tell me it was them or you!”_

It wasn't. You could have knocked them out, ran for the car, anything. Nobody forced you to do this. _You wanted to Dean. You **enjoyed** it. _ The glinting, inviting knife was in your hand and your tainted soul finally was free to carve. To do what it was trained to do.

No words came. The hands release you with sick resignation and your eyes are free to gaze at your handy work.

It was you.  
**It was all you.**

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*

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! This is a lot more stylized than my previous work, thought I'd try something a bit different during the hiatus :)


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